


Stand By

by Whedonista93



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cop!Bronn, Cop!Sandor, F/M, Mob!Arya, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:26:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: When Sansa's fiance kills a woman in a drunk driving accident, it brings her back into the path of the man who rescued her from the Lannisters, a man she had spent years thinking was dead.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 65
Kudos: 115





	1. Shit Luck

Sansa shuffles her feet, too much nervous energy to stand still, much less sit in one of the hard plastic chairs of the waiting area outside the bullpen the officer’s are working in. She hasn’t been in a police station since her escape from the Lannister’s.

The desk officer waves her forward. “I’m Sergeant Tarth. How can I help you, miss?”

Sansa wrings her hands in her purse strap. “I, uhm, on the news? The accident that killed that girl earlier tonight? Where the other driver left?”

The officer nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I think my fiance was driving,” Sansa whispers.

Something like sympathy crosses the woman’s face. “What makes you think so?”

Sansa pulls out her phone with shaky hands, and opens the press release with the picture. She points at the side of the red sports car. “The graphics are a custom wrap.” She zooms in on the driver’s side window, where the sleeve of a man’s shirt is visible. “And this shirt… I did the embroidery on the sleeves by hand.” Her hands are shaking so badly she drops the phone.

Officer Tarth picks it up and hands it back. “It was very brave of you to come forward.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I can’t stand by when someone is hurting someone.”

Officer Tarth offers a small smile. “If only more people thought that way. I’ll call the officers handling that report. What’s your name?”

Before Sansa can answer, a familiar voice sounds behind her, shock coloring his tone. “Sansa?”

Sansa spins, and as soon as her eyes confirm what her ears are telling her, she all but launches herself at him.

He catches her easily, arms wrapping around her entirely.

She can’t stop the tears as she buries her face in his chest. “I thought you were dead.”

He lifts one hand and gently tilts her head back. “Can’t understand you muffled up in my shirt, Little Bird.”

Sansa sniffles and stares up into his face, feeling something like wonder. “After you got me away from… you disappeared. I thought they had you killed, Sandor.”

Sandor shakes his head. “I’m a hard fucker to kill.”

“Language!” Officer Tarth reprimands.

“Fuck off, Tarth,” Sandor fires back. “She’s heard a hell of a lot worse from me.”

“Regardless, she is here in reference to a case, in reference to _your_ case, so a modicum of professionalism would not go amiss.”

Sansa actually looks at him, finally registering the uniform.

Sandor glances down at Sansa. “Little Bird?”

Sansa winces. “The car accident. It was my fiance, Harry.”

“You’re sure?”

Sansa nods.

Sandor scoffs. “Fucking hells, you have shit luck.”

Sansa huffs out an indignant laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“Come on,” he releases her from his embrace, but rests a hand on the small of her back and leads her into the bullpen.

A dark-haired man raises an eyebrow at their approach. “Hello there m-”

“Fuck off, Blackwater,” Sandor snarls, guiding Sansa into a chair at the side of the two shoved together desks before seating himself behind the empty desk. “She can identify our driver. Sansa, my partner, Bronn Blackwater.”

Bronn sits up straight.

Sandor growls.

Sansa raises an eyebrow.

Bronn grins. “Sansa, huh? You know you’re the only thing this fucker talks about when he gets drunk?”

Sansa can’t quite bite back her grin. “Oh really?”

“Not what we’re here for,” Sandor reminds them.

Sansa immediately sobers. “He… gods, he usually calls me to come pick him up when he’s drunk, but I was out with a friend tonight. Why didn’t he just call a cab? He could have called me anyway! I would have left to get him!”

Sandor snags a tissue out of the box on the desk and leans forward to gently dab at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “This is _not_ your fault.” He chucks her chin up lightly. “You can’t blame yourself for the shit assholes around you pull, Little Bird.”

Sansa smiles tremulously and reaches up to grasp his hand briefly. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“How do you know it’s him?” Bronn asks.

“Do you have the picture from the news?”

Sandor pulls it out of a stack of paper on top of his desk.

Sansa points at the graphics on the rear panel of the car, the black lines sharply contrasting with the red paint. “The graphics are custom. One of a kind. My brother Theon did them at his shop. I can call and have him e-mail me the records from the job.”

Sandor nods. “Go ahead and do that. On speaker, if you can,” he holds up a voice recorder.

Sansa nods and takes her phone out to dial Theon with shaking hands.

“‘Lo?” her brother answers sleepily.

“Hey, Theon. Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“San?” Theon suddenly sounds a lot more alert. “You okay?”

“I’m okay, but,” she lets out a shuddering breath. “Theon, I think Harry killed someone,” she admits quietly.

“What?!”

“I need you to e-mail me the records and specs from the graphics job you did on his car last year. Traffic cameras caught the accident, but you can never see the plates or the driver’s face.”

“And my graphics are one of a kind.”

“Exactly.”

“Shit, yeah. Just, uh… lemme find my computer.” There’s a shuffling, then a triumphant sound and a few keys clacking. “Your email?”

Sansa looks up at Sandor.

He shakes his head.

“No,” Sansa tells her brother. “Uhh…” Bronn hands her a hastily scrawled Post-It. “[ BBlackwater@ReachPD.gov ](mailto:BBlackwater@ReachPD.gov).”

A few seconds later, Bronn’s computer dings. Bronn whistles. “This is like a fucking fingerprint for a car.”

“Thank you, Theon,” Sansa breathes.

“You sure you’re alright, San?” Theons asks.

“Yeah. Go back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise.”

“Alright…”

Sansa disconnects.

“This is good,” Bronn tells her. “We can probably nail him with this as long as we can prove he was the one driving.”

Sansa points to the picture again, this time to the arm in the driver’s window. “I hand stitched the embroidery on the sleeves. He likes to wear it when he meets his mistress. Get some sort of perverse pleasure from it.”

Sandor looks at her sharply. “Little Bird-”

“Not now, Sandor. Please.”

Sandor nods. “Alright. What’s the prick’s name?”

“Harrold Hardyng.”

“Address?”

Sansa rattles it off mechanically.

Sandor nods and stands. “We’ll be back. You stay right here, alright?”

Sansa nods and rubs her arms.

Sandor frowns.

Sansa shrugs. “I think I forgot my jacket at the restaurant.”

Sandor rolls his eyes, but tugs a small duffel bag out from under his desk and pulls a black pullover hoodie out of it, even going so far as to help her into it. He gestures to his chair. “That’s more comfortable than that plastic monstrosity you’re in.”

Sansa shifts chairs immediately, snuggling into the sweater and crossing her legs under her. Sandor stops briefly at the desk and exchanges a few words with Sergeant Tarth, gesturing back at Sansa, before leaving. Sansa’s not sure how long she sits there staring at the wall before Sergeant Tarth comes over with two steaming mugs of coffee and offers one to Sansa before taking Bronn’s seat.

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Brienne, please.”

“Only if you call me Sansa.”

Brienne nods.

Sansa’s eyes go wide with surprise when she takes a tentative sip of the coffee and finds it made perfectly.

Brienne smiles softly. “Clegane told me how you take it.”

Sansa blinks. “He remembers how I take my coffee?”

Brienne frowns thoughtfully. “Would it be too forward to ask about your history? He… well, he’s a very guarded person. He talks about you when he’s very drunk, but no one has ever been able to get him to tell us anything… _real_. And your reaction when you saw him tonight. You said you thought he was dead?”

Sansa takes another drink of coffee and closes her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m honestly… well, I’m afraid I’m being quite nosey. I’ve never seen him treat anyone so gently.”

Sansa opens her eyes and smiles sadly. “He’s always been very good to me. He… he saved me. And I honestly thought they killed him for it.”

Brienne tilts her head.

“Do you remember… it was very public, the trial. In King’s Landing, when the Lannister family was charged with kidnapping, extortion, fraud…”

Brienne nods slowly. “You’re Sansa _Stark_.”

Sansa grimaces. “Yeah. Sandor is the one who got me off their estate. Practically smuggled me to the authorities. And he was the only one who protected me while I was there. But then he just… vanished. I was so sure the Lannisters found out he helped me and had him killed.”

Brienne frowns. “Gods, that must have been awful.”

Sansa snorts. “Is it wrong of me to be angry at him for disappearing? I just… for so long, literally years, he was the only good thing, the only safe place, in my life. And then he just disappeared. It didn’t matter that I was safe because I didn’t feel like I was safe without him there.”

Brienne shakes her head. “It’s not wrong, Sansa. Have.... gods, I don’t mean this badly, but have you been to therapy?”

Sansa smiles wryly. “Yes. My mother insisted on it. It helped. Seeing him again, though…”

“It brings a lot back to the surface.”

Sansa nods. “When I first got home… I had nightmares. I would call out for him. Thank the gods my sister was the only one who ever heard me. I don’t think I could have explained him to my parents. But Arya… I don’t think I would have survived coming home if it weren’t for her. It’s funny, too, because we fought so much before.”

Brienne shrugs. “Events like that change us.”

Sansa sips her coffee and cocks her head. “You say that like you know.”

Brienne bites her lip. “I used to work in our Organized Crime Unit. I got pegged for an undercover job that went badly. I was fortunate enough that my rescuer stayed with me, after. Sansa, I… am I wrong, to presume you’ll be around after this? With Clegane?”

Sansa blushes. “I don’t know. I know I don’t want to lose him again.”

Brienne nods, and her face hardens in determination. “I need to tell you something, then.”

Sansa waits.

Brienne takes a deep breath and fidgets with the plain gold band on her left hand. “I… I’m married to Jaime Lannister.”

Sansa freezes, blinks, then closes her eyes completely and allows herself to process. She blows out a breath and shrugs, opening her eyes again. “Jaime has never done me any wrong. He was away, in the Army, when his family had me. I don’t think he knew what they were doing to me. I don’t think Tyrion knew either.”

Brienne shakes her head. “Both of them were… distraught through that trial. Neither was surprised at their sister or father going to such lengths, but they both felt they should have known better, done something to help you.”

Sansa fidgets with her coffee cup and shakes her head. “No. They… part of what I spoke about when I was seeing a therapist… I can’t blame the Lannister family as a whole for the atrocities a few of them committed. I don’t know them well, but I have met them both. By all accounts, Jaime and Tyrion are good men.”

Brienne nods. “They are. I just… I did not want you to be caught off guard, if you came into the station and ever found either of them here.”

“Thank you, Brienne.”

Sandor and Bronn stride back into the bullpen, then, both looking frustrated.

Sansa stands anxiously.

“Got the car, but the fucker wasn’t home,” Sandor mutters.

Sansa frowns. “Was my Jeep there?”

Sandor looks at her sharply.

“I took a cab to dinner with Marg. My Jeep should have been in the driveway.”

Sandor shakes his head, then picks up the phone on his desk and starts barking orders. 

Sansa frowns. “I can’t go home if he’s still out running around, can I?”

Bronn shrugs. “He the type to hurt you if he finds out you turned him in?”

Sansa frowns. “I…” Something in her deflates and she sinks back into Sandor’s chair. “I don’t know.”

Bronn frowns back. “Probably best not go home, then.”

Sandor sighs. “You can go to my place.”

Sansa’s gaze jerks toward him.

Sandor shrugs. “I’m not going home until I find this cunt. And you need rest, somewhere you’ll be safe.” He leans over her, bracing his hands on the chair’s arm rests. “Please, Little Bird. I won’t be able to focus if I think about this fucker making it home to you before I find him.”

Sansa gives him a jerky nod. “Okay.”

Sandor steps back and pulls a key ring out of the top drawer of his desk. “Here. You can take my truck. I’ll have Bronn give me a ride home when we’re done.”

Sansa can’t resist gripping his hand a bit when she takes the keys. 

Sandor holds his hand out when she releases it. “Give me your phone.”

Sansa unlocks the screen and hands it over, watching silently as Sandor adds his name, number, and address to her contacts.

Sandor hands the phone back.

Sansa immediately texts him. “There, now you have my number as well.”

Sandor nods. “My truck is the black Dodge in the far corner of the back parking lot. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to whatever.”

Before her brain can overrule the impulse, Sansa goes up on her toes and presses a kiss to his scarred cheek. “Always rescuing me.”

Sandor shrugs self-consciously. “Go get some rest.”

Sansa nods.

Brienne stands. “I’ll show you to the back parking lot.”

“Thank you.” She glances back at Sandor. “You’ll call if there’s anything I can do to help?”

“Hold up!” Bronn calls.

Sansa turns back to them.

“You said somethin’ earlier about a mistress. Would he go there?”

Sansa shrugs. “Maybe. She lives in a dark blue house on Rose Way. Her name is… um, Gemma, I think.”

Bronn nods as Sandor’s eyes go hard and his nostrils flare.

Sansa shrugs at him helplessly before turning to follow Brienne.

Brienne leads her through the winding halls until they come to a door that leads directly toward the lot where the officer’s park their personal vehicles.

Brienne points toward the very back of the lot. “That’s his truck, there.”

Sansa nods. “Thank you.”

Brienne nods back.

Sansa notices that the tall blonde stands in the doorway until Sansa is safely inside the massive black truck. She carefully adjusts the seat and mirrors before turning the key in the ignition and heading toward the outskirts of town.


	2. Does my pride count?

Sandor’s house is down a long drive, still technically in city limits, but nicely secluded. Sansa parks on the drive near the front walk and makes her way up the steps onto the wide porch. She glances in the front window as she unlocks the door and curses, glad she hasn’t pushed it open yet. She pulls her phone out and dials Sandor.

“Sansa?” He answers gruffly.

“Sandor. Sorry, but I need the alarm code.”

Sandor curses. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s… oh fuck. It’s your birthday.”

Sansa feels herself blush and is glad he’s not there to see it. “Oh.”

“I - oh, fucking hells, I’ve gotta go.”

The line disconnects. Sansa blows out a breath and pushes the door open. She manages to disarm the alarm before a low growl reaches her. She spins and barely bites back a scream. She blinks, eyes adjusting, and spots a massive black form near her feet. “Stranger?”

At the sound of her voice, the dog stops growling and she can see the shadow of his tail wagging as he bumps her legs.

She smiles down at him and scratches his ears. “Good to see you too, boy.”

She flicks lights on as she makes her way through the house. She finds that of the three bedrooms, only the master has an actual bed. One is set up as an office and the other is hosting Sandor’s home gym. The main part of the house - entry, living room, dining room, and kitchen - is pleasantly tidy, with an open floor plan and minimal furniture. A fireplace takes up one corner, and a massive television hangs on the adjacent wall facing a deep, well-worn leather couch. Stranger whines, interrupting her perusal, and she obligingly goes to open the back door for him - she’s not worried about him running off, he’s the most obedient dog she’s ever met, other than her own Lady, and incredibly loyal; he’ll be scratching at the door before she manages to find a snack. 

She opens the fridge and sniffs at a container of leftover Chinese before shrugging and sticking it in the microwave, opening drawers until she finds silverware. As predicted, Stranger whines at the back door. Sansa lets him in before curling into a corner of the couch with her pilfered noodles. Stranger jumps up next to her, tucking his head into her lap with pleading eyes.

Sansa laughs and shoves him off. “No. Down.”

Stranger gets down with a pout.

Sansa finishes off the noodles and tosses the carton before making her way back toward the master bedroom, turning lights back off as she goes. She debates only briefly before stripping and stepping into the shower, running the water as hot as she can stand it. She towels off and slips her underwear and Sandor’s hoodie back on before climbing under the covers. She just laughs and cuddles up when Stranger jumps up beside her. With Stranger next to her and Sandor’s scent around her, she falls asleep easier than she has in years.

* * *

Bronn groans, starting in on what Sandor estimates to be their third pot of coffee. “Three fucking hours past shift and we still haven’t found this little shit. Can’t we just send a warrant app to the prosecutor?”

Sandor just grunts in response when a bit of radio traffic catches his attention. He grabs one of the rookies passing his desk - Payne, he thinks. “Oi! Who just ran that plate?”

“State 305, sir,” Payne answers.

Sandor nods and releases the boy’s arm, keying his own radio up, even as he stands and strides out of the bullpen with Bronn on his heels. “Reach 107 to State 305.”

“Reach 107, go ahead for 305,” Beric’s voice comes back.

“State 305, did that plate come back to Stark?”

“Affirmative.”

“Blue Jeep?”

“Affirmative.”

“Still have eyes on it?”

“Affirmative. South on Main.”

“Copy, stop and detain, we’re en route to you.”

“Copy. P.C.?”

“Suspect in leaving the scene MVA last night.”

“Copy that. Break. State 305 to base.”

“State 305, go for base.”

“Show attempted traffic stop on that last plate at Main and Fourth. Failing to yield. Initiating pursuit.”

Sandor curses and takes off for their patrol car at a dead run. He flips the lights and sirens on as soon as he and Bronn are both in the car, remaining silent and listening to the updates Beric is giving Dispatch. They catch up just in time to watch the old Cherokee take a curb too fast and spin out, rear end crunching into a tree.

Sandor curses and glides the car to a stop on the shoulder.

Bronn jumps out. “What do wanna bet the fucker’s still drunk?”

Beric, having been closer behind the Jeep, approaches the vehicle cautiously. Sandor jogs around, getting behind the vehicle, and Bronn covers the passenger side, in case the driver is dumb enough to bolt.

Beric nods to them, then calls out to the driver. “Hands where I can see them!”

Two shaking hands come out the window.

“Good. Open the door and step out. Slowly.”

The door opens and the driver stumbles out of the vehicle, tripping over his own feet and landing face first in the mud.

Beric rolls his good eye. “Are you injured?”

The driver rolls onto his back with a groan. “Does my pride count?”

“No, it fucking well doesn’t,” Sandor snaps.

The driver makes a show of flexing all his limbs. “No injury.”

Beric nods. “Good. Clegane?”

Sandor closes the space between himself and the driver in three long strides and hauls him up to his feet, keeping one hand on the man’s shoulder as he keys up. “Reach 107 to base.”

“Reach 107, go for base.”

“Base, show one detained. Out on field sobriety.”

“Copy, time 0908.”

“Got ID, pal?” Sandor asks the driver.

He fumbles out a wallet, which Sandor glances at then tosses to Bronn to run.

Harrold fails the field sobriety spectacularly, and blows almost three times the legal limit when they get back to the station almost an hour later.

Bronn rolls his eyes at the numbers on the screen. “Fuckin’... Clegane, go home. I’ll finish booking this asshole.”

Sandor raises his good eyebrow. “You sure?”

Bronn nods. “Aye. Most of the other paperwork is done. Charges are already submitted. Just have to finish booking. And I know you want to check on the little lady.”

Sandor wishes he could argue, but he just nods.

“You owe me.”

“Aye.”

“Take my car. I can jog home.”

Sandor shakes his head. “I’ll make one of the rookies drive me.”

Bronn shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few procedural notes -
> 
> The radio traffic is fairly accurate. We don't typically cross channels between agencies, but for something like a vehicle pursuit crossing jurisdictions, as long as the officers or dispatch are monitoring surrounding agencies, it's not uncommon to switch channels and communicate directly with the officers involved.
> 
> P.C. is probable cause. Contrary to what the media would have you believe, police do not just stop cars for shits and giggles.
> 
> This fic is NOT an invitation for anti-police propaganda. I am not saying all cops are perfect. I am not saying that the system doesn't need to be overhauled, but the vast majority are good people. This fic is solely for fun/entertainment.


	3. Something

Sandor showers and changes into sweats and a t-shirt before tracking down a rookie patrolman to drive him home. He kicks his tennis shoes off inside the door, next to the boots Sansa was wearing last night, as he disarms the alarm, idly grateful she remembered to reset it before crashing out. 

He stops dead in tracks when he finds her in his bed curled around Stranger. Her hair is a riot of waves over his pillow, and she’s wearing nothing but his sweater and a pair of panties if the one long leg kicked out from the covers is any indication.

Stranger lifts his head and woofs softly in greeting.

Sandor shakes his head. “Spoiled mutt.”

Sansa blinks up blearily. “Sandor?”

“Aye, Little Bird.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 11,” he tells her softly.

She groans and buries her face in his pillow.

He chuckles, knowing she didn’t leave the station until almost 5 and couldn’t have gotten much rest. “Go back to sleep.”

Sansa shakes her head. “You were the one working all night. I’ll get up.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. I’ll take the couch.”

She turns her head enough to glare at him. “You won’t even fit on the couch, Sandor. I’ll take the couch.”

Sandor sighs. “No. Just…” He closes his eyes.

“It’s a big bed,” Sansa says softly.

Sandor’s eyes snap open.

Sansa is pulling her leg back under the sheets. She reaches over and flips the covers on the side of the bed closest to him back. “I’m not going to be able to go to sleep knowing you’re on the couch.”

Sandor groans. “Gods, woman.”

Sansa smirks triumphantly.

Sandor peels his socks off, tossing them toward the hamper, and debates only for a moment before kicking his sweats off and dropping them in a heap on the floor.

Sansa tosses the covers over him as soon as he lays back. “Did you catch him?”

“Aye,” Sandor nods, then grimaces. “He wrecked your Jeep.”

Sansa scowls. “Of course he did.”

“Rest, Little Bird. We’ll figure all this out later.”

Sansa nods and quiets, but a moment later he hears a soft sniffling.

Sandor reaches over and tucks his arm under her slim shoulders, tugging her into his side.

She turns and buries her face in his chest.

“What is it, Sansa?” He asks her quietly.

“I am so fucked,” she tells him with a watery laugh.

He bites back the smile that threatens at the sound of her cursing. “We’ll work it all out.”

She shakes her head. “No… I… gods, that Jeep was all I had, Sandor. The house is in Harry’s name and we’re not married. I haven’t worked in two years because he wanted me to finish school. I thought it was sweet at first…”

“But?”

She sighs heavily, something he feels more than hears. “It was… when I was just going to school, he knew when my classes were. I basically handed him a schedule of when he could cheat on me without getting caught. And then, after a while of not working, I was dependent on him. He stopped trying to hide it.”

Sandlor growls. “I wish that fucker would’ve hit the tree head on.” 

Sansa lets out a watery guffaw, then slaps a hand over her mouth. “Gods, that’s awful, Sandor!”

Sandor tightens his arm around her.

“Think I’ll ever catch a break?” She asks, a poor attempt at forced levity.

“Maybe if you had better taste in men,” Sandor mutters before he can stop himself, more than a little bitterness in his tone.

Sansa stiffens against him.

“Fuck,” he curses and rubs a hand up and down her arm. “I’m sorry, Little Bird, I didn’t mean… I… shit. I’m sorry.”

She untenses slowly and shakes her head against his chest. “No, you’re right.”

“I never should’ve left you,” he blurts.

Sansa props herself up on his chest, looking down at him. “Sandor?”

He clutches at her back. “When I took you away from the Lannister’s… I never should have left you alone.”

“Why did you?”

He closes his eyes. “Because I wanted more than I could ever dare to ask you for.”

“I would have given you anything,” Sansa tells him softly.

He nods, eyes still closed. “I know. That’s why I couldn’t ask. I couldn’t let myself be just another asshole taking advantage of you. But I have spent every godsdamned hour since that day fucking killing myself over not knowing if you were really okay.”

“I wasn’t,” Sansa admits brokenly.

Sandor opens his eyes and lifts his free hand to brush away her tears. “I see that now.”

“The last few hours, right here, it’s the best I’ve slept in years. I felt safe.”

“So stay,” Sandor offers.

Sansa’s eyes go wide.

“I mean it. As long as you need to, as long you want to.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t do this again.” He closes his eyes. “I can’t protect you if you're not with me. Knowing you were here when I was at work… I don’t think I realized before how often you were on my mind, how often I was worried about you until I wasn’t. It doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be anything. I can turn the office or gym into a bedroom. But I’m just selfish enough to want you to stay, Little Bird, no matter the capacity.”

“What if I want to stay right here. What if I want it to be something?”

His eyes fly open.

Sansa smiles, a nervous, barely there thing. “You set the bar I measure men against long before you saved me from the Lannisters, and everyone falls short.”

Sandor shakes his head. “What in the hells would you want a big, mean, ugly fucker like me for?”

“Because you want _me_ ,” Sansa answers readily. “You have seen me at my absolute worst. You never expect me to be the perfect little Stark princess. You have never done anything but protect me. Even from yourself, no matter how misguided that may have been.”

His eyes close again as he rolls her completely on top of him, wrapping both arms around her and burying his face in her neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods. “I’m not sending you away again. We’re going to get a few hours of sleep, then we’re going to get your things from that asshole’s house, then you’re going to officially end things with him, then we’re coming back here so I can show you exactly how badly I want you, Little Bird.”

He can’t see her smile, but he feels it against his neck as she settles into his embrace.


	4. Take Care

Sansa decides her jeans and boots are wearable, but cringes at the cried-off makeup crusted onto the sleeves and collar of her shirt. Sandor rolls his eyes and tosses her a dark gray thermal. Sansa beams at him and makes him help her roll the sleeves up to her wrists before tugging his hoodie back on over it. She can’t help but keep sneaking glances at him. 

In the Lannister’s employ, he was always in an ill-fitting suit, and yesterday he was in his police uniform. Today, he’s wearing beaten cowboy boots, jeans, and a black and gray flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the buttons at his chest straining.

“What?” He finally growls at her.

She startles and blushes, then shrugs. “You look good.”

Sandor huffs out something like a laugh and the fight visibly drains out of him. “Let’s go get this over with.”

“Is coffee going to play into this day?”

He chuckles. “Aye, Little Bird, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

After coffee, they go to Harry’s house. They make quick work of clearing Sansa’s clothes out of the closet and dresser and her toiletries out of the bathroom before Sansa carefully packs up her laptop, notes, and textbooks in whatever empty boxes she can find. She leaves her engagement ring and house key on the kitchen counter.

Sandor frowns at the meager haul in his truck bed and backseat. “That’s it?”

Sansa shrugs. “Robb hasn’t exactly handled the family business and estate well since Mom and Dad died three years ago. There’s hardly anything left. I’m holding onto the deed to Winterfell by the skin of my teeth, and even that’s nearly in ruins… Robb fucking vanished, when the money ran out, and Theon and Jon had already moved out and onto their own lives. Arya lives like a gypsy… I swear to the gods, sometimes I think she works for the mob… and I probably shouldn’t tell a cop that,” she winces. “Anyway, uh, some family friends took Bran in and one of our old staff is fostering Rickon… I,” she swallows thickly. “I really wasn’t kidding when I said that Jeep was all I had.”

Sandor’s arms wrap tightly around her, and he holds her as she cries.

Eventually she collects herself and pulls back. “Okay, let’s go so I can dump this piece of shit.”

Sandor smiles. “That’s my girl.”

She expects herself to get more and more tense as they get nearer and nearer to the jail, but with Sandor at her side, she feels at ease. She lets out a shuddering breath as he parks the truck.

“I can come inside with you, but you’ll have to talk to him on your own.”

Sansa nods. “Okay.”

She signs in with the guard at the desk and Sandor kisses her temple and squeezes her shoulder when they call her back. “You’ll be alright, Little Bird.”

Harry has the gall to smile when she walks into the phone bank and picks up the receiver on her side. “Sansa, my dear!” He frowns suddenly. “What are you wearing?”

Sansa glances down at the hoodie she’s practically drowning in. Sandor’s scent wafts off the fabric as she tugs at the sleeves self-consciously.

Harry’s eyes narrow. “Where’s your ring?”

Sansa’s head snaps up, anger rising quickly. “On your kitchen counter, along with my house key. Not that you’ll ever see either again.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s over, Harry. It’s over between us and it’s just plain over for you.”

Harry scoffs. “I’ll be out in no time.”

“You killed a girl, Harry!”

“Yeah, I did! So what?! She was a stripper, did you know that? My lawyer found that out.”

Sansa’s jaw drops. “Who cares what she did for a living?! She didn’t deserve that!”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not like she was some upstanding citizen.”

“Gods, you’re disgusting! Are you still drunk? What did I ever see in you?”

He grins easily. “I might still be a little buzzed.”

Sansa shakes her head. “You killed someone because you were being irresponsible, and you  _ know _ you did it, and you don’t care, because… what? You think you’re better than her?”

Harry leans back in his chair and shrugs. “Pretty much.”

Sansa scoffs. “Gods, I think I actually might hate you.” She turns to the guard stationed in the corner of the room. “These lines are recorded, right?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers.

“Can you please have this conversation pulled and sent to Officer Blackwater at Reach PD?”

The guard nods, expression clearly indicating he heard most of the conversation. “Gladly.”

“Thank you.” She turns back toward the glass.

Harry is pale, but glaring at her, jaw working furiously. “You, you…”

“Me, me, yes, me! Did you think I wouldn’t? The second I saw your car on the news I went to the police station. Fuck you and your high horse, you goddamned prick! I hope you fucking rot!” She slams the receiver down and storms away.

Sandor is leaning on the counter in the waiting area, idly chatting with the guard. He raises his eyebrow when she storms out.

“The idiot  _ confessed _ while I was talking to him.”

Sandor jerks upright. “He fucking what?!”

“I asked the guard to send the recording to Bronn.”

Sandor picks her up and spins her around. “Fucking bless you, woman.”

Sansa smiles down at him.

Sandor sets her on her feet and shakes his head. “Oughta hire you on as an interrogator. Bet the fucker didn’t ever realize what he was saying.”

Sansa shrugs as they walk back out to the parking lot, hand in hand. “He was too distracted by the fact that I was clearly wearing another man’s sweater and  _ not _ wearing his ring.”

“And what’d you tell him about that?” Sandor asks, gazing down at her.

Sansa shrugs. “The only thing I told him outright is that it’s over. Let him stew on the rest.”

Sandor throws his head back and laughs. “Gods, I fucking love you.”

Sansa trips over her own feet, barely catching herself on the bed of Sandor’s truck.

Sandor goes stiff as a board. “Um…”

Sansa reaches up to lace her hands around his neck and draw his face down to hers. She kisses him before he can try to talk his way out of the admission. Sandor grasps her hips and lifts her until he’s not bending, pushing her back against the side of the truck. Sansa wraps her legs around his waist and twines her arms more tightly around his neck. A wolf whistle tears them apart. Sansa buries her face in Sandor’s neck.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Clegane,” a vaguely familiar voice calls.

“Fuck off, pretty boy,” Sandor growls.

Sansa peers over his shoulder. “Jaime?!”

Jaime Lannister’s green eyes go wide. “Sansa?” He shifts his patrol car into park before stepping out.

Sandor sets Sansa back on her feet, placing himself slightly between her and Jaime.

Jaime actually shuffles his feet, looking nervous. “Sansa, I never… I thought, so many times about reaching out, but… I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I didn’t. Not back then.”

“And now?”

Sansa takes a deep breath. “I’ve heard you’re a good man, Jaime. And I learned a long time ago that I can’t just blame everyone with your family name for my misfortunes.”

Jaime shakes his head. “You should, though… I… gods. I feel like I should have known.”

Sansa smiles sadly and steps around Sandor. “Jaime, you couldn’t have. You only came home twice the whole time I was there. The first time… the first time I was still blissfully naive and genuinely happy. And the second time, I was on my very best behavior.”

Jaime sighs. “Regardless…”

“Can we just let the past be the past?”

Jaime nods. “If you’d like.”

Sansa offers a weak, but sincere smile. “Please.”

Jaime’s watch beeps. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an interview.”

Sansa nods and lets out a shaky breath as he drives away.

Sandor pulls her back against his chest. “Alright?”

Sansa nods. “Surprisingly, yes. But I’m ready to go home.”

Sandor is a minimalistic type, so her clothes and shoes easily fill space in his closet. She finishes situating her things in the bathroom before going for her school things, only to find Sandor has already arranged her books and notebooks on the shelves and set her laptop up on the desk. She’s not sure how much time passes before Sandor finds her, still standing frozen in the doorway of the office.

He rests his hands on her shoulders. “Little Bird?”

“I… we… you… um…” She takes a deep breath and exhales before trying again. “I keep wondering if we’re moving too fast.”

“We can still set up another room if you want to.”

“Do  _ you _ want to?”

Sandor squeezes her shoulders. “Gods, no. But if it’s what you need…”

Sansa shakes her head. “Everything about my life just slotted right in next to yours like it belongs there.”

“It does.”

“Exactly.” Sansa turns to face him, resting her hands lightly on his hips. “I’ve never had an easy relationship. And I don’t expect this one to be, but… gods, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He raises his hands to cup her cheeks. “Little Bird, Sansa, I’ve never let myself fight for anything I’ve wanted in my entire life. But you… I’ll do whatever it takes. Just stay.”

Sansa nods.

He lowers his head and bushes his lips against hers gently.

Sansa sighs against his mouth. “We have to be adults and talk about this, don’t we?”

Sandor rests his forehead against hers. “Aye.”

Sandor sits her down at the dining room table with a steaming mug of coffee before he sits across from her.

“No couch?” Sansa smirks at him.

Sandor snorts. “We both know damn well there won’t be any fucking talking if you’re pressed up against me on the couch.”

Sansa’s eyes sparkle. “Fair enough.”

He reaches across the table and takes one of her hands. “What do you want, Sansa? Not from me. From life.”

Sansa blinks. “I… I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.”

“I’m asking.”

“I… I want to finish school. I want to help people. I want to be able to make my own way.”

Sandor scrunches his forehead. “What are you going to school for?”

“Psychology,” Sansa smiles softly. “Counseling.”

Sandor chuckles. “Therapy, eh?” He nods. “You’ll be good at it.”

“You think so?”

He nods again. “Aye. You know why most cops won’t talk to therapists?”

“Hm?”

“Most therapists have never experienced the things we have. It’s hard to open up to someone who doesn’t really understand what you’re talking about. You, though, Little Bird… you’ve seen some shit. Even if you never say that outright, people can tell. They’ll talk to you.”

“Even cops?” She asks with a wry twist of her lips.

Sandor smirks back. “Maybe after we’ve been married a few years.”

Sansa nearly spews her coffee. “That’s a hell of a way to propose.”

Sandor shrugs. “I’m a simple man, Sansa. I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations.”

Sansa smiles softly. “I don’t. I would say yes.”

Sandor’s coffee freezes halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“If you actually  _ asked _ me to marry you.”

Sandor blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “I don’t have a ring.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I don’t need one.”

Sandor closes his eyes, then blatantly redirects the conversation. “How far are you in school?”

Sansa shrugs. “I have to do my clinicals and finish my dissertation.”

“That’s close then, isn’t it?”

Sansa nods. “But I don’t know how I can finish. Harry paid for everything. I haven’t had a job in years.”

Sandor shakes his head. “Gods, don’t worry about that. I own this house and my truck outright. Bills don’t take that much of my salary and I’m not a frivolous man.”

“Sandor-”

“Please don’t argue.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Let me take care of you.”

“Why?”

He opens his eyes. “Because I’ve loved you for a very long time. And it would make me happy to see you happy, Sansa. Please.”


	5. Family, Duty, Honor

Sansa is so focused on her computer screen she nearly leaps out of her chair when her phone buzzes, displaying an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Arya’s voice snaps.

Sansa frowns. “Home. And hello to you too.”

“Yeah, yeah, hi. I’m standing outside your house and some bitchy, yeah, I’m talking about you, lady. Stuff it.”

“Arya!” 

“Anyway, some bitchy little suburban housewife answered the door and says it’s her house, so I repeat, where the fuck are you?!”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Gods, Arya. If you’d keep the same phone number, I would be able to tell you these things. I moved. Theon and Jon know.”

“If you’re telling me I came all the way to the fucking Reach to see you and you’re not here…”

Sansa laughs. “No, I’m still here. I’ll text you the new address.” She glances at the clock. “Are you hungry? I can call in a takeout order if you want to pick it up on your way over.”

“Sure, I could eat.” Arya hangs up without so much as a goodbye.

Sansa calls in an order to her favorite Chinese place, then texts Arya the order confirmation and Sandor’s address. The doorbell rings twenty minutes later.

“Are we feeding an army?” Arya asks, frowning over the massive bags of food, in lieu of greeting when Sansa opens the door.

Sansa’s lips twist wryly. “Something like that.” She takes one of the bags and leads her sister to the kitchen.

Arya sets her own bag down and looks at Sansa expectantly.

Sansa holds her arms out.

Arya rolls her eyes, but moves in for a hug. 

“It’s good to see you, Arya.”

Arya steps back and nods. “Yeah, you too. Now explain.”

Sansa huffs out a breath. “Right. Uh… Harry’s in prison.”

Arya’s jaw drops.

Sansa turns her back on Arya, moving to the back door to let Stranger in, if for no other reason than to give herself a moment to collect herself.

Stranger immediately bolts for the kitchen, snarling at Arya.

Sansa curses. “Stranger, heel!”

The dog obeys, sitting on his haunches at Sansa’s hip, but continues to eye Ary warily.

Sansa ruffles his ears. “Be nice, boy.”

Stranger huffs.

“Honey, we’re home,” Bronn’s voice rings out from the front door.

“Kitchen!” Sansa calls back. She frowns when he comes into the kitchen, still in full uniform, alone. “Finally off him and drop him in the river, then?”

Bronn snorts. “Nah. He’s coming.” He starts poking at the bags on the counter. “Thought you were making pasta tonight.”

Sansa blushes. “I lost track of time.”

Bronn shoots her an almost soft smile. “How’s the paper coming?”

Sansa shrugs. “Getting there.”

Sandor comes in the back door, also still in uniform. “Little Bird, whose motorcycle is-”

“Motorcycle?!” Sansa nearly screeches, glaring at Arya.

Arya shrugs. “Cheaper than a car.”

Sansa rubs her temples. She feels more than sees Sandor come up behind her and leans back into him. “Long day?”

“Aye,” Sandor wraps an arm loosely around her waist.

Sansa rests one hand over his arm and gestures to Arya with the other. “My sister, Arya.”

Arya is staring at Sandor with an inscrutable expression. “You’re the fucking Hound.”

Sandor immediately goes tense against Sansa’s back.

Arya’s expression twists into an unholy grin. “And you’re a cop?! I… Sansa, how do you even know him?”

Sansa flushes scarlet.

Arya raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Gods, I have so many questions!”

“Can we eat while you ask ‘em?” Bronn asks.

Sansa glances over to find that he’s stripped down to his duty pants and undershirt. She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Bronn, we can eat. If you wanna set the table, we’ll be out in a minute.”

She turns and lightly shoves Sandor toward the bedroom. He goes willingly and allows Sansa to help him out of his gear and uniform with practiced hands.

“What Arya called you… the Hound,” Sansa starts as Sandor pulls on a pair of jeans, “the Lannisters used to call you that. It means something, doesn’t it?”

Sandor sits on the bed and rests his head in his hands. “Aye. And that your sister knows it and recognizes me…” He looks up at her. “Remember when you told me you thought your sister might be working for the mob?”

Sansa nods, then remembers Sandor isn’t looking at her. “Yeah.”

“I think you’re right,” he tells her wryly.

Sansa moves between his knees and gently cups his cheeks to raise his face to hers. She raises an eyebrow.

Sandor sighs. “The Lannister’s were into so much more than you ever knew, Little Bird… I did horrible things for them. Bronn is the only one here who knows the truth. The Hound… the Lannister’s were the only people in the world who know that Sandor Clegane is the Hound. And there are very few people alive who would recognize the Hound. The fact that your sister _does_ … whatever she’s into, she needs to be careful. And if she tells anyone about me…”

Sansa shakes her head. “Arya is loyal.”

“That could be a problem.”

“Family, Duty, Honor.”

“What?”

Sansa smiles softly. “They're the old Tully family words. My mother’s family. Whatever her loyalty now, it’s to family first. Do you trust me?”

Sandor reaches out to grasp her hips. “Aye.”

Sansa nods. “And I trust Arya.”

Sandor chuckles. “Alright, Little Bird.”

Sansa beams and bends to kiss him.

His arms band around her waist.

“Oi!” Bronn bangs on the door. “You can fuck later, there’s hungry folks out here!”

Sandor groans and drops his head to Sansa’s chest. “Alright, alright!”

Sansa cards her fingers through his hair.

Sandor stands, arms still banded around her waist, lifting her with him.

Sansa laughs and twines her legs around his waist.

“We can eat dinner cold, right?” Sandor asks.

Sansa kisses him once, then pulls back. “If we don’t go now, Arya will come, and she’ll just come in.”

“Door’s locked.”

She shakes her head. “Won’t stop her.”

Sandor groans.

“Little girl’s comin’,” Bronn hollers down the hall.

Sansa smirks. “Told you.”

Sandor sets her on her feet and opens the door to find Arya reaching for it. “We’re coming, Runt.”

Arya looks him up and down slowly, then peers around him at Sansa. “I like him better than the last one… even if he is a mob enforcer.”

Sandor sighs.

Sansa comes up behind him and slaps a hand over his mouth. “We can argue over dinner.”

Sandor kisses her fingers.

Arya gags. “Gods, you’ve turned him into a puppy.” She continues to stare at them as they dish out Chinese and eat, snagging bits and pieces off each other’s plates. Finally, she looks at Bronn. “Are they always like this?”

“So fucking cute you wanna puke?” Bronn asks around a mouth full of noodles.

Arya nods.

Bronn salutes her with his beer. “Aye.”

“Gross,” Arya declares before turning to Sansa. “I don’t get it.”

Sansa looks at her sister over her wine glass. “Don’t get what?”

“He,” Arya points at Sandor, “has a reputation as one of the scariest motherfuckers in Westeros and he’s finger-feeding you eggrolls.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to ask you how you know so much about his reputation, we should stop this conversation now.”

Arya raises a brow back. “How much do you know about him, Sansa?”

Sandor sighs. “She doesn’t know everything, but there’s no secrets between us.”

“No secrets, but she doesn’t know?”

“Not the kind of thing that comes up in everyday conversation, Runt.”

Arya tilts her head and slides her gaze to Sansa. “How’d you even meet him?”

Sansa starts and laughs. “I never did finish introducing you, did I? Arya, he saved me.”

Arya’s eyes go wide. “ _This_ is Sandor?”

Sansa nods and reaches across the table to grasp his hand. “Yeah.”

Sandor looks at her curiously.

Sansa’s face drops.

“I expected a blush if anything, Little Bird.”

Sansa leans over to bury her face against his shoulder.

“She cried out for you,” Arya tells him seriously, “when she had nightmares.”

Sandor looks down at Sansa. “Little Bird?”

Sansa shakes her head against his arm.

Sandor rolls his eyes and scoots his chair back far enough to pull Sansa into his lap. “Look at me, please?”

Sansa obliges, blinking away tears.

“Nightmares?”

Sansa shrugs.

Arya shakes her head. “Tell him.”

Sansa buries her face in his chest.

Sandor chucks her chin up gently. “Sansa.”

Sansa grimaces. “You… gods. Sandor, for years you were the only safe thing in my life. Being back with my family, thanks to you, was great. And I knew I was safe, but without you around… I didn’t _feel_ like it.”

Sandor hugs her close to him. “Gods, Little Bird… I fucked up last time but I swear I won’t leave you again.”

Sansa clings to him.

“You’ll only live long enough to regret it if you do,” Arya promises him.

Sandor fixes her with a hard glare. “How did you know who I was? Who do you work for?”

Arya’s lips twist wryly.

“Seriously, Runt. You want me to keep your sister safe? I need to know who still knows.”

Something in Arya’s expression shifts. “House of Black and White. Jaqen H’ghar.”

Sandor nods. “Ah.”

Sansa frowns up at him. “Should we be worried?”

Sandor shakes his head. “No. H’ghar is not a good man, and he has his own set of morals, but he is an honorable man. We’ve never been enemies and he has no reason or motivation to betray me to anyone.”

“Especially if I tell him not to,” Arya mutters darkly.

Sansa turns and raises an eyebrow.

Arya just smirks back. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, San.”

Sandor frowns at her. “H’ghar’s a bit old for you, isn’t he, Runt?”

Arya grins. “How many years are between you and my sister?”

Bronn snickers. “I like this kid.”

“You’re happy?” Arya asks.

“I’m happy,” Sansa confirms. “You’re really in the mob?”

“You really want to know?”

Sansa considers for a moment, then nods. “I really want to know.”

“Yes.”

“How? Why?”

Arya shrugs. “After Mom and Dad died and Robb lost it… I mean, you were there when I left. I ended up in a bad spot, San. Jaqen saved me. And I kind of just… never left him.”

Sansa’s lips twist up. “And how does he feel about that?”

Arya smirks back. “He hasn’t kicked me out yet. Of his house, or his bed.”

Sansa laughs. “Spare me knowledge of my baby sister’s sex life, please.”

Arya scoffs. “Oh, please. I’ve had to hear yours first hand for the last week.”

Sansa flushes scarlet. “Gods, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I can handle a bit of awkwardness to know you’re happy.”


End file.
